Your Life is Precious to Me
by Nessa Hathor
Summary: Merlin knew it was a bad idea to go through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Arthur didn't care. After all, Merlin was an idiot. But even idiots could be right. And this could cost them something precious. (Episode 6, Season 4 - A Servant of Two Masters)


**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to **_**Merlin**_**, the show is owned by BBC.**

** Note: I've decided to write this story after watching the series again, and watching more closely Merlin and Arthur's interactions. Their bromance is so interesting, and this episode, episode 6 of season 4, was interesting because it showed the dynamic relationship between all of the characters. And because Merlin is so uncharacteristically blunt, it was funny.**

**Season 4, episode 6 - A Servant of Two Masters - This story is about what goes through the mind of the characters during the episode. Focus mostly on Merlin and Arthur's relationship.**

They had been riding hard all morning, pushing the horses to the limit through the forest. By midday, they were halfway to their destination. But, by Arthur's command, they were to ride through a _very_ convenient shortcut.

The Valley of the Fallen Kings.

Merlin was pretty much against it. He had been there before, many times. And of all those times, things never went the right way. It was where Taliesin had shown him the visions in the Crystal Cave, of Morgana killing Uther and several other little scenes leading to that terrible event, the many visions that Gaius had told him were nothing but illusions, which turned out to come to life. Mostly due to his interference, but he would never admit that to anyone, especially not to Gaius and Kilgharrah. He regretted it, of course, but he had to go with his gut most of the time because everyone was so set on giving him conflicting advice and instructions.

"Arthur? You are not serious!" Merlin demanded as he pushed his horse to match Arthur's pace.

"What else do you have in mind?" Arthur asked, bored.

"Anything!" He said. "Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, no one in the right mind would go in there." He pushed, hoping they would see reason. The smirk on Arthur's face said otherwise. And Percival's wide grin reinforced it.

"Exactly!" Percival agreed, and Arthur chuckled.

"The route's a secret, Merlin." He spoke as if he was talking to some idiot that he had come across. In his mind, Merlin was an idiot, so he would be treated accordingly. Besides, Arthur enjoyed messing with his servant. If he didn't have Merlin to torment, the journey would be a bore. "That's why we chose it." Barely a moment passed since those words left his lips, the silent forest was filled with the echoes of war cries. And, from the hill at the right side of the road they took, came a band of armed bandits, bloodlust on their eyes, eager voices yelling as their feet carried them fast down the still soggy underbrush of the forest.

"Not so secret after all!" Merlin yelled, smiling despite their current predicament. He had no time to yell 'I was right!' to his liege, needling him for being right. From the left came more men, faster than their comrades since the hills flanking on the left side were smaller and easier to cross.

"No need to get cocky!" Arthur snapped, removing his cloak and readying himself to fight. The knights unsheathed their swords, surprised by the number of people. They came from all sides. Percival turned to see horsemen at their backs, cutting off their escape route.

They were knights of Camelot. A band of riffraff bandits, carrying poor weaponry, no armour other than their leather jerkins and sword belts wouldn't scare them. If anything, they would relish the challenge. Percival nudged his horse, matching the bandits' war cries with his own, meeting them face-to-face and unhorsing one immediately upon reaching a midway point, killing him instantly with a blow to the torso, cutting him from side to side with one stroke of his sword. On the other side, Arthur fought footmen from his horse, which ultimately proved to be a silly move, as they were too low for him to strike, and he was insecure on the saddle. The man who fought him managed to dodge his strikes and, grabbing the King by the midriff, pulled him off of the horse and to the ground. Arthur didn't make it easy, however. He squirmed the entire time he was being unhorsed, throwing the man off of his feet momentarily and giving himself a few moments to get up and strike fast. He was able to dispatch the bandit with one blow to the stomach, felling him instantly. But he was given no time to breathe, for another man took his change and strike at the King. Or tried to. Arthur quickly parried the man's sword with his, and engaged him in single combat, oblivious to his surroundings.

Merlin kept out of the fray, he would do more harm than good if he tried to help directly. Still on his horse, he watched as Arthur struggled, and…froze. He wanted to help his friend and master, but he was better with magic than the sword. Arthur was doing fine on his own, Merlin had no reason to barge into the fight. But his senses told him something wasn't right. He had been on edge for a while because he had thought this mission to be a silly one. He was unsure, as he had been in some of these missions with Arthur. To protect himself, Arthur, and not be spotted using magic…it was a tall order. He wanted to ensure Arthur would survive, without giving himself away. He managed to accomplish it, in the end. He always had. So when he saw a horseman riding hard in Arthur's direction, he jumped down his horse and hurried to protect his King, as he had always done.

"Arthur!" Merlin yelled his name, getting off of his horse and readying himself to save his and master. The King of Camelot. The man pushed the horse to a gallop, sword risen in order to strike once and fatally, to cleave the King in half, most likely. Merlin acted on impulse. He wouldn't reach Arthur in time, and even if he did, he wouldn't be of much help with the sword. With the horse's speed, the strength of the man's blow could cut him in half, and that would leave Arthur exposed. So he cast his magic, hand risen, and pushing away from him, eyes glowing as he cast an impulsive spell. As if he had been stricken by an invisible weapon, the man was thrown off of the horse, one of his feet caught on the spurs. Instead of simply falling, the man was dragged away by the spooked horse, screaming as he hit the ground multiple times. Merlin smiled, relieved by his triumph. Even better, Arthur never saw him cast the spell. Yet, he was oblivious to the danger coming to him. Relaxed, Merlin turned to the horse, and before he could think, something to his right caught his eye. To his surprise, he saw a horseman riding in his direction this time, iron mace spinning wildly to his side. There was no time to cast a spell. He had been dead set on protecting Arthur from impending danger, he forgot to protect himself. The blow came swiftly. The spiked mace struck Merlin's chest, the surprise overridden by the intense pain coursing from the blow, air left his lungs by the force of the hit. He fell on his front, unable to call for help. It all happened too quickly, and darkness soon took over.

Arthur had been fighting nearby, oblivious to his friend's sudden plight. He danced easily now, dodging the bandit and toying a bit with him, before he twisted his sword, in an elegant gesture, ending the miserable life in less than a moment. He turned, dodged the man as he fell dead on the cluttered ground, only to see Merlin falling as well, a few feet from where he stood. Merlin fell…and didn't move again.

* * *

The day was ending, the sun going down lazily and filling the forest with dimming light. As stealthily as possible, Arthur dragged his injured friend and servant through the forest, while keeping an eye out for the bandits, which weren't exactly making the effort to be quiet during their search for the knights of Camelot and their King. Arthur never really stopped to think of how such large group had changed upon them so easily. Their journey had been only known to very few, mostly within his closest circle of friends. He would've been driven mad by the idea of having been betrayed, but the situation didn't allow him to wonder more than a moment or two. He had to keep himself and Merlin moving, dodging the bandits who searched in groups of two or three. Merlin never complained about their pace, which, to Arthur, was something that made him respect his friend more. He kept moving as best as he could, despite the wound he received from the mace blow. Arthur kept one arm around Merlin's torso, pushing him against his side and keeping him upright, his other hand holding the sword ready. His footsteps were mercifully muffled by the blanket of fallen leaves and fresh vegetation covering every inch of the ground, so their flight was easier, but no less fraught with danger. He briefly wondered where Sir Leon and the others were. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sight of two bandits hurriedly dodging fallen trees and taller bushes, heads turning sharply in hopes to see their preys. Seeing a slope edged by thick trees, Arthur headed there, laying Merlin on the entangled roots of the trees, out of sight, while he laid by his side, head tilted up to see the pursuers march by without so much as a peek over the edge and past the trees. Once they left, the young King sighed in temporary relief. Merlin looked up, then down at his liege and friend.

"They need to work through their anger." He commented lightly. Arthur rolled his eyes, amused by the attempt of humour.

"They just did, on you." He remarked, earning a pained laugh from Merlin. The lightness evaporated quickly, the situation was too dire for the mirth to last. Arthur helped his servant up, again holding him tight against his side and sword in the other hand. Merlin's gasps of pain filled his ears and made him uncomfortably aware of his suffering, double when he realised they were too far from Camelot and would, unfortunately, spend the night amidst danger and freezing temperatures of the misty forest.

"A night's rest and you'll be polishing my armour." Arthur declared, trying to convey the confidence he didn't really feel. "It could definitely do with a scrub!" He spoke the last part with effort, too tired to carry on. Merlin's reply was a whimper of pain, which told him enough. Merlin was too tired, too weak to carry on. Arthur himself wasn't well but he couldn't compare to his friend's misery. He helped Merlin down as gently as possible, put his sword down at arm's reach, and then knelt by his side, to check on the injury. Merlin's face was contorted with pain, but still he looked up to Arthur, whose face was also contorted by different emotions, despite his best efforts not to show the worry at seeing Merlin's injury. It was bad, Merlin could see it in his eyes. He did think the pain was too much, he wondered if the wound was as bad as it felt. Arthur's tense posture, nervous gestures and the reaction upon checking the wound (Merlin couldn't see it, and it was folly to try with the amount of pain he felt) gave it away. But he hid it all, by adopting a more nonchalant approach to the situation. "I've seen worse." He declared, packing the wound carefully with the cloth he had in hand. It wasn't much, but would have to suffice, Arthur thought to himself. "Definitely seen worse." He said again as he busied with tending to the injury, trying his best to think lightly, not to ponder on the gravity of what he was handling. And trying not to let his fear show to his friend. Merlin was unimpressed and didn't believe him. Sometimes, Arthur wished he was the fool he kept calling him…

"On a dead man." Merlin said with a smile. A pained one.

"You're not going to die, Merlin. Don't be such a coward." He reprimanded, scowling. He had to think positive and encourage Merlin to think positive as well. Or else they would both be miserable and things would look terrible. Even if things were terrible as it was…

"If I do die, will you call me a hero?" Merlin asked, all of a sudden, smiling. Arthur was sitting back, wearily leaning back against a cut tree trunk. He was amazed by how Merlin could speak lightly of his own death, when he could barely do it. He couldn't even imagine life without Merlin.

"Probably." Arthur mumbled, disliking the way the conversation was headed.

"But whilst I'm still alive, I'm a coward" Merlin's expression changed to amused disbelief. 'Well,' Arthur thought. 'At least he'll forget the pain for the moment.'

"It's the way these things work, I'm afraid." Arthur went on with the joke. "You get the glory when you're not around to appreciate it." He pointed out, trying not to think of Lancelot. 'It's the truth.' He thought.

"Unless you're the king." Merlin teased, hand over his chest, pressing down on the wound. It alleviated some of the pain. He looked at Arthur by the corner of his eyes as he said that.

"Come on, it's got to have some advantages." Arthur said, shrugging under his armour.

"You have a very good servant." Merlin pointed out, smiling cheerfully. But he moved suddenly and pain shot out of his wound, causing his body to stiffen in reaction.

"You're right, I do." Arthur admitted, throwing aside the mirth and teasing tones. That moment brought to the front of his mind all those times Merlin faced danger at his side. Always whining, always with a barbed comment or some type of complaint ready to be thrown in his direction, but always there, always present. Arthur knew one thing of Merlin: He wasn't a coward. He did more than any servant would do for his liege. And, despite coming back to being placed in danger time and time again, he never backed down. Neither did he try to walk out in the face of another danger, another monster. Another encounter with Morgana. He was always by his side, despite the trials and the betrayals, despite the hardships and the battles. Another servant would've backed out a long time ago. But not Merlin, he stayed true to his liege, staying (or struggling to stay) by his side, whenever Arthur and his knights rushed to another dangerous situation. And Arthur…he respected that. "A servant who's extremely brave, and incredibly loyal, to be honest. Not at all cowardly." Merlin looked uncomfortable by those words, the light mood Merlin had set moments before just dimmed to the heavy, tense and sad environment they had wanted to avoid. Arthur thought it best to be truthful, he hated lying to his friend, the same way he hoped Merlin trusted him enough to never lie. To always speak the truth, no matter how uncomfortable that might be. He turned his eyes away to the forest, incapable of looking at his suffering friend after coming out with his true feelings.

"Thank you for saving my life." Merlin said quietly.

"You do the same for me." Arthur pointed out, both now uncomfortable by the idea that Merlin could be dying and by the things Arthur had just spoken. Merlin had never really known he felt that way, with all the teasing and the outright mocking of his ways, his words and his actions. Sure, his actions spoke louder than words. He could remember many times that Arthur had saved him, or berated him for putting himself in jeopardy for him, despite being his prerogative to use servants as shields. Arthur had never done that, instead, he chose to shield his servants, Merlin above all. In those moments, his actions showed Arthur's feelings differed from the scathing words he spoke too frequently, how he regarded Merlin as his servant and servant alone, since he never put the feelings into words. But sometimes, words were the truest expression of one's heart and the simplest whispers of the truth could be louder than all the actions in the world, or a lifetime.

But now, while facing his mortality, Merlin couldn't help but think back all those times, all those things they lived through and wonder if he had made a difference in Arthur's life.

Arthur's words revealed Merlin he did.

* * *

Day came, sun peeking through the canopy of the forest, between bright green leaves and swaying, thick branches. Birds sang cheerfully, unperturbed, their trilling echoing in the space between trees and bushes. Uncharacteristic rustling and the frantic beating of wings jostled Arthur from his light sleep. He tilted his head forward in order to see the space in front of him, sword ready in his hand. His eyes moved fast, searching for intruders or, in this case, their pursuers. Then, he turned his head to the side, quickly checking over Merlin. His blood chilled. Merlin's pallor was whiter than before, his breathing laboured, body shuddering from the cold.

He was worse than Arthur thought he would be. Arthur rose quickly to his feet, secured the blade on his belt.

"I'd love to say we can stay here and rest, but another ten minutes, we'll be mercenary mincemeat." Arthur grabbed one of Merlin's arm and pulled him to his feet effortlessly. Merlin gasped and struggled weakly as he rose, feeling his legs wobbly and not at all stable. He would only hinder Arthur, knew their chances to escape unscathed would be little to none if Arthur dragged his (nearly) dead weight through the forest. He would rather die from exposure than submit his liege to that. Arthur's life was too previous, Merlin's mind, even clouded with pain, never lost that single thought. Arthur had to live, no matter the cost. Even if it meant being left behind. A little price for Albion's future.

"Leave me" Merlin pleaded, hating that his voice was so weak and hoarse. He wouldn't convince the stubborn king like that! 'Not a chance!' Arthur thought, in his turn.

"Now's not the time for jokes." He scolded, pulling Merlin on his shoulders easily enough. Good thing the boy was so lean and skinny, Arthur thought. Wouldn't be too much of a burden and he would be able to march fast. The down side was that his hands would be full of Merlin and he wouldn't be able to wield the sword and fight off the incoming bandits. Arthur turned around, half testing his mobility and was pleased to feel he could move quite well, better than how he had held Merlin the previous day. Having his sword hand free was good, but they hadn't been able to cover much ground like that. Having Merlin off his feet was much better, and Arthur was confident that he would be able to move much faster that way.

"Leave me!" Merlin repeated, gasping. Being on Arthur's shoulders increased his pain, feeling the wound pressed against the King's chainmail. Even with all the cloth between the metal and the wound, Merlin felt each link chafe the injury.

"Sure. Whatever you say." Arthur muttered, moving out while keeping his senses alert for potential ambushes or encounters. He didn't run, wouldn't to have Merlin die on his shoulder or attract unwanted attention from moving too fast. He marched with confidence, as he always did, eyes moving from side to side and ears picking each little uncharacteristic noise that could indicate unwanted company. Merlin never struggled, too weak for that, but gasped and winced frequently, both from being treated as a sack of potatoes and from the pain coursing from the wound to the rest of his body. His fingers hurt, he didn't try to bend them or the like, thinking he would end up dying from the pain before they could ever set foot in Camelot. He reached a passage between well-defined walls made of boulders, covered in fresh, vivid green moss and other vegetation, walked down the path to where a stairway began. He looked around, but stopped, seeing movement beyond the stairs, where a section of the wall had collapsed with time. Knowing there was nowhere to run, and seeing no potential hideout, Arthur steeled himself for a fight. He placed Merlin down gently, on a corner of the passage where he wouldn't trip on him or put him in immediate danger, ignoring the pained grunts and gasps from his friend. He readied for a fight, pulling his sword free and running headlong down the passage, where the first of the bandits was. Merlin could only look on helplessly. He hated the feeling, hated being a burden and, most of all, hated the fact Arthur wouldn't leave him behind, no matter how much he begged. Bandits poured from both ends of the passage, swords in the air. Arthur dispatched the first one, using few sword strikes and punching him hard enough to knock him into the boulder and out of commission. The second was lucky to be parried and kicked down instead of killed. When both tried to regain their footing, Arthur struck fast, killing one after the other with a quick thrust of his sword through the belly, downing them before they could strike him again. Merlin gritted his teeth, watching from where Arthur had dropped him. He had always seen Arthur fight, and it had never brought out strong feelings in him. Now it did. He felt terrible, vulnerable. A liability to his King, to Camelot. Tears prickled his eyes, from the mix of feelings. Pain, anger, sadness. War screams got his attention and he saw more bandits coming from where they had entered the passage. Blue eyes flickered with horror, when he realized the armed men were pouring into the passage in large quantities. The men saw him but, as he posed no threat (that they knew from glancing briefly at him), advanced towards the other target, ready and eager for a fight. A fight Arthur couldn't win, not because he was helpless as Merlin was at that precise moment.

No, he would be defeated by the mere fact that there were too many men for him to be able to win. They would win by tiring Arthur, not because they were stronger. Merlin had barely any strength left. His throat as parched and burned, his eyes burned from the fever settling in from the effort and from the injury, which worsened each moment spent in that forsaken place. Merlin saw Arthur's resolute and determined expression. He would fight to the death. He would do it because he couldn't bear to leave Merlin behind. Merlin couldn't convince the King to abandon his burden and run for his life. One thing Arthur had that could be both blessing and a curse: his drive to protect anything and anyone he loved. Be it Camelot, his knights, his family, Gwen…or Merlin. And the boy could see it too well, it would be his downfall. Which could very well happen on that day, if Merlin did nothing to stop it. He could be dying, but he still had some strength in him.

Magic. He could harness his magic, in spite of his failing body, and he would for Arthur's sake. He would do it at the cost of his life, no matter if the spell dried his body of the remnants of strength. Arthur was too important to lose. Merlin would save him, whether it was his destiny or not. At that moment, he cared not for destiny. Arthur was his friend. Had been his first friend (not counting Gwen and Gaius) in Camelot. He would do anything for him.

One last time, one last spell, to save Arthur.

Setting his eyes on his friend (Arthur could be his King, but to Merlin, he was a clot pole and, above all, his friend) for what he believed was the last time, Merlin rose his torso, ignoring the shooting pain from the injury and the fever and all the weakness, prepared to set off a hastily thrown plan into motion. Arthur wouldn't abandon him willingly, then Merlin would force him away.

"Gewican ge stanas!" His cracked lips moved, his voice echoing stronger than it did earlier, blue eyes glowing gold briefly. His spell hit the mossy walls, cracking them with the strength of thousands of pickaxes, causing a rock fall. Arthur's expression changed from determined to confused, to disbelief and, as he looked down to the dying Merlin, at the mercy of the mercenaries, on the other side of the crevice, he became panicked.

"MERLIN!" He screamed, panicking as huge boulders fell down the narrow passage. There was no time to think, however, with the stone walls collapsing around him. The first boulder fell right in front of him, mere inches from his feet. He looked up, and jumped back to avoid the next one that collapsed where he stood two seconds before. His last glimpse was of Merlin's pale face, immobile and vulnerable, blue eyes shining in his direction, before the stones covered the path to the one person he never thought he could lose.

* * *

Arthur had returned to Camelot, after spending hours trying to find Merlin. The passage had been blocked by the massive rocks, making it impossible to move them or even climb over the stone wall. He was found by his knights, all sporting wounds from the skirmishes here and there, fighting the bandits hell-bent on wiping them from existence. Leon had to practically drag Arthur away from the Valley of the Fallen Kings with the help of Sir Percival, asserting they would find Merlin but they had to return, for there was little time left until the sunset. Arthur was reluctant but saw the older knight's words to be true. Heart clenching with concern over his servant and friend, he nudged his horse to move (Leon had gathered the scattered horse, even Merlin's before the bandits could catch and take them away), always glancing back and waiting to see the fool appearing down the road, shouting for them to wait. He wasn't the only one that kept glancing back, even stopping the horse to check the road behind. Leon would turn his horse slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of Merlin, only to join them moments later, Percival glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the darkening woods for a glimpse of the missing boy.

It was all in vain.

They arrived at twilight to the gates of Camelot, looking defeated, more at the loss of their friend than from the struggles of the ambush and subsequent fight to escape. Once they reached the citadel, Arthur's heart dropped to his feet. Gaius was descending the stone steps to the castle, wizened eyes searching the group for his ward. He saw the concern clouding the old man's gaze and dreaded immediately having left the forest without Merlin.

"Your Majesty." Gaius greeted, and his voice echoed the concern they all felt. "Where's Merlin?" Those old eyes, that held so much trust for their King, glanced from knight to knight, then to the gate from where they came, hoping to see his ward riding up to meet them in the courtyard, silly smile plastered on his face and a snarky comment in his lips.

"There was an incident at the Valley of the Fallen Kings." Arthur began, and each word he spoke were as heavy as the rocks that had blocked the way to Merlin. Gaius's expression dropped, horror showing momentarily, replaced by neutral concern. Arthur thought his heart couldn't take any more pain, but he was wrong. Gaius's reaction spoke louder than if he had screamed them at Arthur. "I tried, Gaius, I really did." The old man patted his arm awkwardly, his grim smile doing nothing to soothe Arthur's soul.

"I know you did, lad." The old man said. "I know you did."

* * *

His chamber was dark, sombre. Too quiet for his liking. Another servant had hurried after him to light the candles in the room and help him in Merlin's absence, but he sent the servant away, angered by the odd presence. If it wasn't Merlin, then he didn't want the person around. He could take care of himself, he reasoned. He sent a guard to inform Gwen about Merlin's disappearance, then asked another to get Leon as soon as he was available. The knight didn't take long to arrive, but he looked as weary as Arthur felt.

"Sire." Leon bowed. "You called?"

"Sir Leon." Arthur acknowledged. "I'm sorry to disturb you when you should be resting."

"No worries, sire. I can rest afterwards." He dismissed the King's concern.

"Very well. I want you to assemble a rescue party early in the morning." Arthur ordered. "They should leave as soon as the sun's up. Scour the forest all the way to the Valley of the Fallen Kings and the immediate area around it. Make sure the soldiers search thoroughly the forest, and leave no stone unturned." Leon nodded, the determination in his eyes matching Arthur's.

"Very well, sire, I'll gather soldiers and we'll leave first thing." Arthur smiled, he saw Leon wanted to find Merlin as much as anyone else who knew the boy. Perhaps, when the other knights found out, they would ride out to search. He would do it, but there was business to tend to in the meantime. And he was hoping the idiot would be found on the morrow. Leon left the King to his thoughts, which turned dark too quickly. To the young king, the situation reminded him of the encounter with the Dorocha, from the Samhain incident. Where both of them were trapped in a dark room, just waiting for the spirits to find and kill them. Arthur had prepared himself for death, dreading the wait until the Dorocha struck and did away with him. He hoped it would take him and spare Merlin, his idiotic servant, but when the wailing spirit came for them, the fool jumped in Arthur's stead and took the blow valiantly, without hesitation. Thankfully, he hadn't been killed but left severely wounded, nearing death. All of the knights had been concerned for the boy's state, he was part of their group. Percival had carried the boy to the horse, Lancelot had volunteered to take him back to Camelot, all of them hoping they would arrive in time for Gaius to save him. Even then, while Arthur helped settle the boy on the horse, securing him so he wouldn't fall during the ride, Merlin had implored Arthur to keep him, not to be taken from his side. Arthur had refused then, watched the horses trot away regretfully, thinking it would be the last time they would see one another. But Merlin was relentless, he returned healthily and with his silly bouncing step that Arthur found endearing and amusing. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, not even Gwen. Arthur's eyes went to the door right away, expecting Merlin to show up in the same way. Barging in unannounced, stupid smile on his face, asking 'Why are you still up?' and calling him clot pole, or any other name he could think of. Making a racket as he went, picking up his discarded clothes, putting his sword in place, gathering the armour and chainmail for polishing, yammering about one topic or another. He realized he had been staring too hard at the door, waiting.

It never moved.


End file.
